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123

XXXI. MY ANCHOR

Thou art my anchor in a stormy sea,
My one sweet anchor,—holding fast my life
In the dim mist of trouble and wild strife
To the pure vision of the love of thee.—
Without thine help where would my harbourage be?
Life's billows fierce and iron-tongued and strong
Would slay my spirit, and engulf my song,
And the fair golden hope of heaven would flee.
This thou hast taught me,—that a weary man,
Weary with life and tired-out past all speech,
May suddenly a new road-corner gain
Whence, fair beyond all hope of words to reach,
New lovely flowerful meads may stretch away,
While golden sunset gilds the death of day.